Strained Relationships
by FullMetalPon-3
Summary: Lucy sure does love Woodie. And he loves her back. Of course, those feelings might change with a few secrets revealed by a certain dapper fellow. (WoodieXLucy, implied Willowson.)


**One-shot!**

Woodie wiped the sweat off his brow, stood back and examined his work. He nodded in satisfaction. He had felled and split enough trees to have logs for several days.

 _You should take a break, Woodie,_ said a sweet musical voice. _You've earned it._

"I suppose," he replied to Lucy. Though he couldn't completely quell his urge to chop more, he did need a little break.

He sat down on a log and stared off into the distance, watching the rabbits clash their little curly horns together.

He checked the position of the sun. Hmm, dusk was fast approaching, and tonight was a full moon. He'd have to bring this back soon.

"Woodie!" a male voice called.

He turned. It was Wilson. He was an oddball, but alright, he supposed.

"Hello," Woodie greeted.

Wilson looked over the field of logs and whistled. "Wow, you sure did chop down a lot of wood. I figured you could use some help carrying it back."

Woodie looked him over. He wasn't big, and he was pretty scrawny, but he had definitely gained muscle since Woodie had first met him.

"Eh... I suppose, if it's not a bother," Woodie agreed.

Wilson and Woodie tied up as many logs as they could carry, and started heading back to camp. (Woodie's bundle was twice as large as Wilson's.)

"Are you sure we should leave all those extra logs out?" Wilson asked. "Maybe we should hide them."

"They'll be fine," Woodie replied. "Even if they get rained on a little, they'll still be useful."

"No... that's not what I meant..." Wilson said. "I feel like there's something out here in the woods we have to watch out for."

"What do you mean?" Woodie asked, the hair on the back of his neck rising very slightly.

Wilson looked off in the distance, thoughtful. "This mostly only happens during the full moon, but I sometimes see it other times; I come out into the woods, and there are all these trees knocked down and half-chewed. Sometimes, I even find a dead Guardian!"

Woodie felt a quiver go down Lucy's blade.

"Well, if it's never hurt you, do you think it's a problem?" he asked, as casually as he could.

"Well, Wigfrid and I were hunting pigs one time at the full moon, and something tried to eat her spear shaft," Wilson replied. "We were in the forest, so it was even more dark than usual, but we could see it was big and hairy and snarled a lot. And it had very big teeth."

"You sure it wasn't a pig?" he asked, involuntarily feeling his front teeth with his tongue. They weren't that big, were they?

"Nope, she said it was too big, and it was trying to eat the shaft, not her. But it did try to bite her when she fought back," he replied. "Besides, when we fought it for a little bit, it just ran off. Wigfrid was mad she only got a hit in, but I'm just glad we were okay."

Woodie had remembered waking up one time with a strange scar on his chest and not being sure what it was from. It wasn't deep or serious (Beaver hide was tough!), but it had still been a bother.

"Well, don't let it go after you if you think it will hurt you," he said. That would probably not end well for him. "If it steals the logs, I'll cut down new ones. If it actually starts attacking, though, you should fight back for sure." If they gave him the boot, he could survive on his own.

 _I know what you're thinking Woodie,_ Lucy said. _We'll just be more careful next time._

Woodie rubbed a finger down her handle to show his agreement.

Wilson considered Woodie's suggestion. "I suppose. I mean, I've never seen it extremely close to camp. As long as it doesn't attack, I suppose we're alright." He laughed. "I've got enough monsters in my life without going and hunting another one. Though Wigfrid doesn't seem to feel that way…"

Wilson nodded, and hoped that meant the conversation was over. Thankfully, it was, and it was a good thing, too. He only had about two more hours until the sun set completely.

Once they reached the main camp, they were greeted by their campmates sitting around a fire, performing various activities or eating.

Willow looked up from the net she was weaving. "Oh, hey! Wilson! Woodie! We saved you some eggplant stew! Come and eat! But don't stink up the place with your sweat!" She held her hand over her nose.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't want to risk sitting next to you and getting third degree burns, anyway."

Woodie chuckled as he set down his bundle of wood. He knew Willow and Wilson would sit next to each other anyway. They were funny that way.

Wilson slurped down his soup, managing to get his already filthy shirt even dirtier and followed it up with a big chunk of roast koalephant. "You want any, Woodie? There's still a little left."

Woodie eyed the eggplant floating in the stone bowl with distain. It didn't matter if eggplant didn't really come from birds. It was too suspicious.

"I'll pass. I have some meals I have to finish up at my camp, eh?" That was technically the truth, but he wouldn't be eating tonight for obvious reasons.

Wilson stared at him suspiciously for a second, but then turned away and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Canadians."

 _Aw, you didn't let me bash his face in,_ Lucy sighed as they walked towards their camp.

Woodie chuckled. "Heh, I don't think Willow would be very happy if we did that."

 _I suppose not…_ she quivered. She went silent.

He gave her a pat. "Is something wrong?"

She seemed to stiffen up. _You… love me? Right?_

Was that what was bothering her? "Lucy, if you think I don't love you just because you're not a human, you know that doesn't bother me."

 _It's not that!_ She seemed a bit distressed. Was it something he had said? _It's just… Eh… Never mind. It's not important._

"On the contrary, it's very important," came a familiar and smooth voice.

Woodie growled and turned. As he expected, it was Maxwell. "I thought you had your own camp, hoser."

"Such language." Maxwell raised a hand to his mouth in mock offense. "And here I thought you were the only one that had manners."

"I'm not going to ask how you can hear Lucy, but if she doesn't want to tell me what she's thinking, that's alright," Woodie replied. "And it's none of your business."

Maxwell stared down at him with a look of superiority. Woodie glared fiercely back, into those black eyes.

Maxwell smiled and lazily looked at a crow picking up seeds in its beak. Ugh, why would you fill this place with so many birds? Even the moose here were half-bird!

"I suppose not," he said finally, after the bird flew away (good). "After all, even if a wife has been lying to her husband after all these years, who am I to get involved?"

Normally, Woodie would have dismissed this as something Maxwell was saying just to be annoying, and this time wouldn't've been any different. It wouldn't have, if it hadn't been through the literal shock that ran through Lucy. It was so unexpected, he almost dropped her.

"Lucy?" he asked.

 _G-go away,_ she chirped. _Stay away from us, you monster._

Maxwell smiled at her. "Perhaps I'm a monster, but at least I didn't turn my spouse into one."

Woodie pushed Maxwell away. "That wasn't her fault. How was she supposed to know I would get cursed when I took her?"

Maxwell eyed him with disdain and brushed his tuxedo off where Woodie had touched him. "Is that what she's been telling you?"

Woodie gripped her handle. "Stop trying to get to me, eh? You're making her upset."

Maxwell threw back his head and laughed. "That certainly is true. The truth makes her so upset she refuses to tell you."

Woodie took a step back and fingered her handle nervously.

"You see, pal," Maxwell leaned in, "she meant to curse you. Just ask her about it; even she doesn't have the audacity to lie to your face."

 _I-I'm so sorry,_ she warbled. She was shaking.

"L-Lucy?" he said.

A sudden jolt ran through Woodie's body, and his fingers went numb. He dropped Lucy on the ground and put his hands to his mouth. His front teeth had grown an inch and showed no signs of stopping. He had gotten too distracted talking.

"Oh, would you look at that? What a lovely moon we have tonight," Maxwell marveled. Sure enough, the watery blue light was slowly overtaking the red dusk.

"Maxwell!" someone called angrily from behind Woodie. Wilson.

"What an inopportune time for him to arrive, hm?" Maxwell took a step back. "You might want to stay away, scientist; we have a monster to worry about."

Woodie panted and shook as he examined his hands. They were growing short but strong claws.

"Woodie?!" Wilson asked. He hurried over, pushing Maxwell away. "Are you alright?! What's going on?!"

"D-don't look!" Woodie said, struggling to form coherent speech as he started rapidly losing consciousness.

Wilson stepped back. "Your teeth... what's happening!?" He turned on Maxwell. "What did you do to him?!"

"Don't ask me," Maxwell said. "For once, I had nothing to do with this."

Woodie howled as pain bloomed at the base of his spine. He had a tail now. He pushed Wilson away and frantically made a run for the trees, trying to find the deepest parts of the forest.

Another wave of pain, this time from a snout forming on his face, made him nearly trip. He felt himself growing, and his shirt ripping. The final transformations took place, and he lost all coherent thought.

... What had the beaver been running from? It wasn't sure. It hadn't been in danger, had it?

Well... It didn't matter now. There were trees to eat! It had felled just a few before it heard a growling behind it. Walking trees? Well, they were still trees. The beaver snarled and attacked.

...

Wilson stared after Woodie. Or rather, the thing that Woodie had turned into.

He rounded on Maxwell. "What just happened?! What did you do to him?!"

Maxwell shrugged. "I didn't do anything."

Despite being quite a bit shorter, he grabbed Maxwell's collar and brought his face closer. "Stop lying."

"That's a tad aggressive for you, isn't it, pal?" Maxwell replied.

Wilson raised his hand to strike him. Someone pulled him back.

"No punching weak man!" a Russian voice commanded.

Wickerbottom stepped in front of Wilson. "I know you two aren't on the best of terms, but-"

"He may be a jerk, but you can't just punch him," Willow interrupted, Glommer buzzing lazily by her shoulder. "He's a useful jerk! And also weak." She stuck out her tongue at Maxwell.

"B-but!" Wilson struggled to get out of Wolfgang's grasp. "I saw him turn Woodie into a beaver!"

That stopped Wickerbottom and Willow. Wickerbottom adjusted her glasses. "Dear, you do know you should only eat the green mushrooms when you cook them, right?"

"I always knew you'd be the first one to crack," Willow sighed. "I just didn't realize how soon it would be."

"I'm telling the truth!" he growled.

"Perhaps he's not as crazy as he seems," a soft voice said. "Yet."

Wolfgang practically threw Wilson aside in surprise. Wilson couldn't exactly blame him; Wendy had a nasty habit of popping up out of nowhere.

She pointed to the ground nearby. "Look here. I've never seen beaver tracks before, but I wouldn't be surprised if they looked like this."

Willow brought her lighter over and Abigail floated above, illuminating the tracks.

Wickerbottom adjusted her glasses. "Odd. These do resemble the back feet of the _castor canadenis_ , but I have never seen one here. Besides; they are far too large."

"And there." Wendy pointed. "I may not know Woodie well, but I don't believe he would ever leave his precious axe behind. He never even lets us touch it."

"That that axe is very interesting," Maxwell said, leaning over towards her. "You may find that you have more in common with a lumberjack then you realize, dear niece." He smiled, showing off his slightly pointed teeth and wandered into the darkness.

Wendy looked up at Abigail. "Sister, I can't stand to use you this way, but Woodie's life is on the line. Would you please investigate it?"

Abigail gave a whispery mutter of agreement and floated towards it.

Wilson tapped his foot in annoyance. Maybe he was just going crazy. But he had been wearing a top hat and had eaten eggplant stew for dinner! Had he been around dormant Guardians and not realized it?

"What's she doing?" Willow asked Wendy.

"She's going to haunt it," Wendy replied. "Whenever my uncle suggests something, I highly doubt it's a good idea to directly execute it. The worst that could happen is that Abigail is forced to retreat into her flower."

Wilson was pretty sure that saying "the worst that could happen" was like a way of inviting bad luck, but Wendy seemed to like bad luck, so knowing her, she was intending for that to happen.

Abigail circled around the axe a moment more, then suddenly dispersed into the ground. Wilson felt Wolfgang twitch.

The axe glowed for a split second as the ghost possessed it, then stopped. A very startled looking Abigail appeared from the ground. She drifted over to Wendy and started chattering and mewling.

Wendy's eyes widened ever-so-slightly. "Really? I thought I would have been able to sense that, but perhaps it's something beyond the supernatural."

Wilson tightened his fist. "What is it?"

She ignored him. "I suppose there is only one way to find out." She pushed in front of Willow and picked up the axe.

Wickerbottom gasped. "Young lady! You simply cannot handle others' poss-"

Wendy inhaled sharply and threw it to the ground.

"Wendy!" Wickerbottom exclaimed. She rushed over and grabbed her hands. "Are you alright?"

Wendy did not return any notice to Wickerbottom, and instead looked past her and down at the axe. "I'm terribly sorry. That was very rude, wasn't it? It was just very surprising."

Willow rolled her eyes. "Oh, great, now we have two nutcases. Here, I think you need this more than I do tonight." She handed Glommer's flower to Wendy.

Wendy turned to her. "Keep that slimy fuzzball to yourself; you know that I am much better at retaining my sanity than you are; perhaps better than anyone. Pick up that axe, and you will see that I am perfectly stable."

Wilson kind of doubted the full sanity of any of them at this point, but he decided to bite the bullet.

He took a deep breath and picked it up.

 _Don't touch me!_ a shrill voice cried out.

Wilson gave a very manly shriek and nearly dropped it on his foot.

 _Would everyone stop picking me up and dropping me today, please?!_ the axe exclaimed.

"I-it talks!" Wilson stuttered. "The axe is talking! HOW IS IT TALKING?!"

 _Don't call me, 'It'! I have a name, you know!_

"Then what is your name?" Wendy asked, coolly.

 _Only Woodie gets to know, you hosers!_

"Were friends picking bad flowers today?" Wolfgang grumbled.

Wilson turned to Wendy. "Can they not hear i- er, her?"

"It appears that you must touch it," she replied. She ventured a little closer to the axe. "May I show them?" she asked.

 _No! I feel very violated already,_ the axe chirped.

Wendy stared down at the tool with cold eyes. "I understand being protective, but none of us will be able to help Woodie if you do not cooperate." She closed her eyes, then reopened them, and for a second, Wilson swore her eyes had turned pure white. "I can assure you; living with a loved one's death on your soul is worse than dying yourself."

Abigail whispered, upset.

The blade of the axe quivered slightly. _Alright._

Wendy grabbed Abigail and Wolfgang's hands and touched them to the blade. After a moment's hesitation, Wickerbottom joined them.

 _You can stop touching me now!_ she exclaimed.

"Goodness!" Wickerbottom withdrew her hand. "I've seen some strange things, but this is new."

"Pfft, so what?" Willow asked. "Woodie's got a talking axe; I've got a dancing teddy bear."

Wilson stared at her. "It only dances when we go insane, Willow."

"That's what you think," she replied, and winked. Wilson just ignored her. She was joking. Probably.

"Normal axe do not talk," Wolfgang grumbled. "Wolfgang wants out." He headed back to his camp.

Wilson turned back to the axe. "Alright, I'm going to give myself the benefit of the doubt and assume I'm not crazy. What happened to Woodie?"

The axe blade shook very slightly. _He… He doesn't want anyone to know._

"Just like he doesn't want anyone to know about you?" Willow asked.

 _I don't really need to tell you anyway!_ she said. _He'll be fine! He's a lot tougher than you all!_

Wickerbottom looked to the ground. "I'm afraid that may not be true. He has dropped all of his supplies here."

"Well, as long as he's not too far from camp, he'll be fine, right?" Willow said.

"Maybe… But tomorrow's the first day of winter," Wilson replied. "He'll freeze to death within an hour. And he doesn't have an effigy."

 _No! Woodie!_ she wailed. She shook for a moment. _Alright. I won't tell you what happened to him, but I will tell you how to find him. Ms. Wickerbottom can pick me up; the rest of you are all hosers. Especially Willow._

"You burn down one dumb forest…" Willow muttered. They all looked at her. "Okay, five dumb forests."

Wickerbottom picked her up. "Where is he?"

 _He's to the northeast, but he's far away. Hurry!_ she urged.

They would need to hurry. Dawn had already broken, and the ground was covered with frost, as was usual for this world's spontaneous season changes.

"Wendy, you had best go back to camp," Wickerbottom said.

Wendy thought a moment. "Alright. I don't have any winter supplies at the moment, so I'll continue chores to prepare the main camp. However; Abigail, would you please stay with them? I will let you know if I'm in distress."

Abigail reluctantly muttered her agreement.

Wendy hurried back down the trail. Willow looked after her.

"I'm just going to grab some supplies from my camp," Willow said. "We should make sure we have some grub."

Wilson slipped on a breezy vest over his clothes, and put on a beefalo hat. "WX is going to be mad the rest of us aren't working."

Willow reappeared, toting her blue backpack she had received from the shadows. "Aah, who needs him?" Willow said, as she put on earmuffs and held a thermal stone over her lighter to warm it up.

Wickerbottom put on a winter hat and puffy vest (Of course she had come the most prepared.) "All of you are very important to keeping our camp functioning. Which is why we must find Woodie. And, of course, he is our friend."

 _Can we hurry up!? Woodie might've run into something bad!_

Wickerbottom nodded. "What direction do we go, my dear?"

The axe was silent for a second, as though concentrating. _Northeast, about three klicks away._

Wickerbottom checked the compass. "Alright." She looked down at the axe again. "That's quite a distance, so I'm going to have to put you in my backpack and use my walking stick."

Wilson and Willow pulled out theirs as well.

As they ran through the woods, Abigail just a little behind them, Willow lowered her voice and spoke to Wilson. "We have to hurry."

Wilson looked over. "Why?"

"Maybe it was just me hearing things, but while I was gathering supplies, I'm pretty sure I heard some bleating," Willow said.

Wilson paled. "Let's hope it was just a stray goat."

Soft, fat snowflakes started to slowly descend upon the earth as they ran down the path.

…

The beaver panted as the last tree finally felt to the ground with a moan. It had been difficult, but all three were finally dead.

The beaver started chewing the trunks of the trees. They tasted better than normal trees. The beaver ate until it was almost fully dark.

The beaver had only just started on the second tree when a crashing sound came from the forest.

More walking trees? Well, the beaver had already recovered. Fighting another one wouldn't be very hard.

The beaver turned to face it, snarling.

Rather than a big tree emerging from the forest, it was a long, thin arm, which bristled with ice on the tips. It was followed by a pair of enormous ivory antlers. A single glowing eye opened in the darkness. The eye focused on the beaver.

A big, hairy shape rose from the ground. And rose. And rose. And rose.

It was much bigger than the trees had been. The beaver made a small squeaking noise.

A big hoof planted itself on the ground in front of the beaver, pounding the earth so hard the snow bounced into the air. The thing gave a hoarse growl.

Still, the beaver was not going to back away from a hard-won meal.

The beaver ran forward and bit the monster.

With a bleat of pain, the monster shook the beaver off. The beaver let out a hiss.

The beaver turned to face it again, but the monster had already recovered. It raised one of its great, twig-like hands and hit the beaver in the chest. The beaver hit a tree.

… Woodie's head hurt colossally, and when he opened his eyes, the world had turned a dull gray color.

A pounding noise got his attention. He looked up and was greeted with a chest of fur.

"Agh!" He ran to the side. A long hand smashed into the tree he had been next to. How had he gotten on the bad side of a Deerclops when he was a beaver?!

He desperately tried to remember if there were any paths that led back to camp nearby, but unfortunately, a few inches of snow were already covering the earth.

Woodie's fingers were already going numb from the cold, and his vitals would soon follow if he didn't hurry.

A roar broke through his thoughts. Any direction was fine right now as long as it was away from the Giant.

Woodie desperately wished he had a Beefalo he could mount, or a walking stick, or even some coffee, just anything that would make him move faster. Even if he could just transform again... but he didn't have any axe, let alone enough time to chop down the necessary trees.

He hurried through the trees, starting to feel the effects of the cold, when he suddenly fell to the ground in a painful faceplant. Ow, he hadn't hit his head that hard since his hockey-playing days. Stupid roots! Those tree stumps needed to be dug up!

Hoarse breathing came from behind him. His eyes widened. Uh-oh.

The claws of the beast barely brushed his back, but it was enough. The frost spread over his entire body and surrounded him with an icy cocoon.

He held his breath, frantically trying to move his arms to break free of the ice.

The stomping continued behind him. He gave his arms one huge wrench and managed to shatter the ice, falling on his back in exhaustion.

The Deerclops loomed over him, giving a massive snort, almost as if it was annoyed. It raised its massive clawed hands.

Woodie desperately tried to drag himself away, but his arms were too numb.

The Deerclops brought down its massive arm.

"Lucy!" Woodie cried.

Just before the claw hit his chest, something collided with the hide of the fiend. It looked down in surprise before its fur burst into flames.

Woodie stared in shock.

"Nice shot, Willow!" a man yelled.

Woodie turned his head to the direction that the voice came from. Three figures stood near the tree line, and a fourth floating in the air glowed slightly in the sunlight.

"Hey! Woodie!" a female voice screamed. "Run!"

Woodie stumbled to his feet and frantically hurried to them.

Abigail, Wilson, Wickerbottom, and Willow rushed forward, as crashing came from behind. Wilson pulled a blowdart out of his backpack and shot it at the Deerclops, and Abigail glowed red, slamming straight into it.

"Woodie," Wickerbottom said. "Take this walking stick and hat and get away. We'll stay behind and kill it now. We can't risk letting it destroy our camp.

"I'm not going to let you die fighting it here, eh!" Woodie exclaimed. "It's my- er-um-"

She looked at him as Willow and Wilson rushed forward with their spears, as Abigail was hit and turned into a flower, falling to the ground. "You can explain later, but if you refuse to leave…" She pulled an axe out of her backpack. But not just any old axe. "Then try to make yourself useful." Despite her age, she hurried with a spear in hand as well.

Woodie looked down at the red-bladed axe. "I'll ask about it later, eh? Right now, we have some elk to hunt."

Lucy quivered in agreement. Woodie raced for the nearest evergreen and began to chop. He felled it in a few strokes, and his mind started to cloud, but he didn't let it stop him. He moved immediately on to the next one and continued to chop. His teeth were starting to hurt. Finally, on the third tree, he felt himself fill with power and grow to three times his normal size.

The beaver growled and went to finish what had started. Some weird human with funny hair that stuck up turned and gawked at the beaver, but the beaver paid no heed. Instead, he sunk his incisors deep into the chest of the monster.

The brute snarled in reply and tried to shake the beaver off, but before it could, the old human that smelled of reeds smashed her spear into the leg of the monster, while the human that smelled like charcoal lit its fur on fire again . The beast collapsed to the ground, and before it could get back up again, the skinny male human shoved its spear through the neck of the monster.

It struggled frantically for a moment, then went still.

The beaver stared at it for a second, before the male human waved his hand in front of the beaver's face. The beaver snarled and raised his hackles.

"Woodie? Can you hear me?" he said.

Wood? Wood sounded nice right now. The beaver was so tired, and he felt very weak.

"C'mon, Woodie, it's us!" the charcoal human asked. "Y'know, the person who burned down all those trees you planted?"

Burned… trees? The beaver didn't know about that, but it definitely seemed like something Willow would do.

Willow? Wasn't that a type of tree, too? No… That was her name. Willow. And Willow and Wilson were always together. Just like… Woodie and Lucy were always together.

Woodie fought the instinct of the beaver and came to his senses. Lucy! Where was she?! She was lying over in the snow. She might get a little dirty, but at least she would be okay…

Woodie suddenly found his heavy beaver frame too heavy to hold up. He collapsed to the ground, much like the Deerclops.

"Woodie!" Everyone yelled, their voices muffling as he slipped away from reality and into unconsciousness.

…

Woodie awoke and opened his eyes to see the roof of a tent over him. He felt himself laying down on something soft. Rabbit pelts.

The tent at his camp wasn't nearly this nice, so he must be back in the one at the main camp. He sat up. A feeling of mild vertigo passed over him for a second, but it quickly passed.

He heard the sound of footsteps outside and opened the tent to see who was there.

A small, black, hairy figure was sitting on the edge of the unlit fire pit, stringing silk on bent sticks. Multiple spiders sat around them, so it was pretty easy to tell it was Webber. Woodie had thought he had been on the islands gathering supplies, but he guessed he was back now.

A spider looked up and hissed at Woodie, prompting the Webber and the others to turn their heads in his direction.

"Back off," Webber growled at them. "He's our friend." The spiders did so, reluctantly. Webber got up and opened up the crockpot. He shooed the other spider away as they clambered around him, trying to get a bit of whatever it was. Seeing that it was not going to be shared with them, they gave him an annoyed hiss, and returned to the trees, presumably back to their nests.

It turned out to be the thick meaty stew they rarely made, but all loved. Woodie's stomach growled loudly.

"Here, Ms. Wickerbottom said this was for you," Webber said.

Woodie accepted the bowl of food and ate it so fast, he almost choked. It warmed him to the bone and made him feel a little better.

"Thanks," he said. He looked over to the rocking boat device Wilson had made. Willow had dubbed it 'Seaworthy'. "I thought you were still on the islands, eh?"

"Nah, Ms. Wickerbottom wanted us to come back to keep an eye on you," Webber replied. Underneath the winter hat he was wearing, one of his spider legs twitched.

Woodie felt kind of bad. "You didn't have to come back because of me." Food was kind of hard to come by in the winter, and Webber was another mouth to feed. He would have been able to get through the hurricane season easily by just harvesting the abundant amount of fruit.

"It's alright," Webber replied, though he seemed a little upset. "We brought back a lot of snacks." He opened his backpack to show Woodie that it was full of bananas, coconut, fish, and monster meat.

Webber closed his backpack and peered at him. "Are you sick? Because we heard Mr. Wilson say that he had to drag you into camp."

Woodie fidgeted. "Um… just a small bug. Don't worry; you probably won't catch it."

He looked a little bit like he want to ask more questions, but he was polite, and held his tongue. "Oh, I almost forgot, but we just remembered!" Webber exclaimed, with his strange use of pronouns. "Ms. Willow said that your axe was inside Chester. And Mr. Wilson said I shouldn't touch it."

"Oh, she hates it in there!" Woodie exclaimed. Webber raised three of his eight eyebrows. "I mean… Um, the drool will make it all rusty. I better go get h-it."

Woodie was sure that Webber was watching him intently as he hurried away in embarrassment, towards Wickerbottom's tent. Chester was sleeping soundly in the snow, but as soon as he came within two meters, the eye of the eyebone opened up and stared at him. Chester stood up and panted.

 _Is someone there?_ came a muffled voice from within. Chester opened his mouth to let Woodie access his contents.

 _Woodie!_ she exclaimed. _I missed you so much! Please let me out of this guy._

Woodie hesitated for just a second, then picked her up. He felt bad for hesitating.

 _Your grip is so weak!_ she wailed. _You should get something that will help you feel stronger. How about some nice pierogi or something?_

"Lucy," he said, interrupting her. "I'm fine. Webber gave me some stew."

 _Are you sure?_ Lucy fretted. _I'm sure he means well, but that strange boy might've put some of that icky meat in. That will just make you sicker._

"Webber's fine. Let's go sit somewhere," Woodie said. He carried her over to a hill by the camp, which overlooked the forest below. "Nice view, eh? Wonder where everyone is." He guessed they were probably doing chores in light of the first day of winter, but he needed to say something to break the ice. "I hope Willow doesn't start another forest fire like last winter."

 _Mm._ Lucy didn't seem to be thinking about that at all.

Woodie sat in uncomfortable silence. The tension was so thick he felt he could cut it with, well, with an axe.

"So… Good thing the others managed to kill that Deerclops, eh?" Woodie prompted. "I would have been in a rut if they hadn't found me. And you finally have someone else to talk to, if you need to."

Lucy quivered. _I'm sorry. I didn't want to talk to them, but the ghost scared me._

"I'm not mad," Woodie said. "You did what you had to."

 _Mm,_ she agreed vaguely. _I know what you want to talk about. And… I will admit: what that awful man said wasn't… Uh…_ She shook for a second. _Oh, I made such an awful mistake!_ she squeaked.

He tightened his grip on her handle as she shook harder, sobbing. "Take your time."

She hiccupped. _A-alright. It… was very sel-selfish of me. I'm so sorry. You remember how you found me, right?_

Woodie remembered it well. A grove lit by the full moon in the middle of northwest territories. So cold, but so beautiful, surrounded by massive trees. And in the middle… there she had been. At the center of that moonlight.

He had picked up the axe without a moment's hesitation, so surprised to hear a voice. And yet, it was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

"I remember," he said at last.

 _You… were my second owner,_ Lucy said. _The first was the man who put me there. The man who created me. It was so long ago; back when Canada was still new to the world._

Woodie whistled. "That is a very long time."

 _He made me so he could have company in the woods. You know how it gets so lonely out there._ Woodie did know. He wasn't sure how the others survived without someone to talk to. Even Wendy only had Abigail.

Woodie nodded to show he was following.

 _Well, one day, he had his daughter come out with him..._ Lucy said. _She just wanted to learn about what her father did. And, well... she was little. She got in the way while he was chopping a tree... It was awful._

Woodie thought about that. If Webber or Wendy had been around while he was chopping, and he had hurt them...

 _He was so upset. First, he refused to chop down trees. Then he started blaming me. I was so afraid he would melt me or worse. But... he finally left me in the middle of the woods. I was there for years, and it turned into centuries._ Her voice took on a quiver. _I... got pretty bitter. I was so alone, and it wasn't my fault. So... I decided to make a curse. Th-the next person wh-who used me, w-w-would never be able t-to stop ne-needing wood. I didn't know it- that it would..._

Woodie inhaled deeply. "I-is there any way to make it stop?"

She was silent for a second. _The only way to stop it is to kill me. I can understand if you want to. I won't be mad if that's what you choose._

Woodie set her down on the ground. "I need some time alone, eh?" He stood up. "I will come back, but I need to think right now." He looked over his shoulder once more and then left for the main camp.

It was nearly dusk, so many of the members had returned to deposit their supplies. Woodie avoided them, especially Wickerbottom, Willow, and Wilson.

He sat down behind a tent and sighed. The corners of his eyes stung, and he bit his lip to keep it from trembling.

He looked at his hands. It was really her fault that he was like this? He didn't want to believe that...

"I thought I sensed the presence of a beast around you," a soft voice stated. "I had no idea it would physically manifest itself."

Woodie jumped, making a squeaking sound of surprise not unlike what would come from a beaver. He covered his mouth in embarrassment.

"Perhaps it is not a surprise," Wendy said, her eyes lowering to a large pink flower in her hands. "We are all unusual in one way or another." She gazed off in the direction of the jerky racks, obviously showing no interest in the chunks of meat drying. "Even Wilson..."

Woodie wanted to ask what she meant, but held his tongue. That was Wilson's business.

She peered at him. "I suppose it is none of my business, but what has upset you?"

"That is none of your business," he agreed. She waited.

He sighed. "Someone very close to me... has not been honest."

"Lucy?" Wendy asked. He nodded. "I see. You are very close to her. Now I realize exactly how close. Let me guess: she is the reason you are cursed?"

Woodie nodded. "Now... I don't know if I should be angry, or mad, or... I don't know if I can love her right now." He looked down at the ground.

He heard the scuffing of snow beside him and felt Wendy lay her hand on his. He looked up.

"When I first arrived here..." she began, "I knew this was the way to bring back Abigail. I thought... I could have her back forever, just the way she used to be." She pulled a wilted pink flower out of her pocket. "I was wrong. Abigail... Still loved me, but I just couldn't see her as anything but a husk of my sister. Just a bad memory made to haunt me. I couldn't stand to be around her. But... Abigail seemed to love me even more. Even when I led her into danger, or I killed her... She kept following me, because she loved me so much. And... I realized I was upset because I still loved her. She's still Abigail; she's just changed. Which is what people do."

Woodie stared at her. "Why are you telling me this, eh?"

"Because... things change. When someone you love and thought you knew more than anyone else does, it can be so hard." She patted his hand. "I understand being upset. But remember: if you leave her, you can still never stop loving her. You will only hurt yourself more." The flower in her hand took on slightly more color and making a shiver run up Woodie's spine. "And in turn... she will hurt forever as well."

Woodie looked up only to find that there was no one there. He shuddered.

...

Woodie returned back to the hill just before nightfall. The light from the fire pit, where the librarian was spinning beefalo wool, just reached him, so he was safe. He felt something soft land on him, and looked up to see fat flakes of snow falling down, deepening coating the tops of the trees nearby.

He shivered. Good thing Wickerbottom was making those hats. He moved a little closer to the fire.

 _Are you cold?_ Lucy hummed.

"Eh, a little," Woodie admitted. "I could really use a fur coat right now."

 _I really hope you're joking,_ Lucy muttered. She sighed. _You're mad at me, right?_

Woodie thought for a second. "Yes, I am a little mad. But not really because I got cursed. Mostly because you didn't trust me."

 _Really?_ She seemed surprised. _But... you hate your curse! And it's my fault you have it._

"I don't like being cursed," he agreed, glancing at the stack of partially chewed logs near the fire as he did so. "It's not fun, and I forget what I'm doing. But it's saved my hide plenty of times, so to speak."

Lucy let out a sigh. _I'm really sorry. I wish I could do something. You didn't have to be like this._

"Well, if it means I'm not as boring as Wilson, that's okay, eh?" Woodie joked. "The only thing he can do is grow a beard!"

Lucy let out a laugh. It was a very nice sound. _Heh, he is so boring! And too skinny! He needs to get more meat on his ribs! Maybe he should eat more flapjacks._

Woodie nodded. "When we get out of this place, I'll make flapjacks for everyone. With lots of Canadian maple syrup." He picked her up and moved closer to the fire, where Wickerbottom acknowledged him with a nod, then went back to her spinning.

As he lay down on his mat, though, he wondered what Wendy had meant. Had something happened to Wilson?

...

Wilson made put another light flower bulb in his lantern. He really shouldn't be wasting these supplies, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do this during the daytime

Though it was dark and the snow mostly covered the ground, he knew his way to the other's camps pretty easily. Soon, he spotted the two inactive night lights and a real fire blazing a little past them.

Wilson spotted the lanky silhouette as he approached, and shut off his lantern.

Maxwell turned around. "Such nasty little creatures come crawling out of the dark at night."

Wilson pouted. "Yes, but apparently not all creatures in the night are nasty."

Maxwell regarded him without the slightest change in expression. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You're pretty disgusting, did you know?" Wilson asked, ignoring his question. "You pretend you just like to mess with us, that you just wanted to see Woodie feel nervous by knowing about him and his... curse." Wilson struggled to get that out (Curses weren't scientific! There was probably an explanation that made more sense.) "But that's not it at all, is it?"

Maxwell raised his eyebrow. "I'll ask again, whatever do you mean?"

"You're just bitter," Wilson growled. "After hearing how Lucy feels about Woodie, I know, you're just bitter. You just miss Charlie." Maybe it was Wilson's imagination, but he swore he heard an exhale in the dark. "You're miserable, and you want us to all be miserable, too."

Maxwell seemed just the tiniest bit surprised. "If that were true, then why would it matter? Being happy isn't going to help anyone."

"Because we're people," Wilson growled. "I came to this island as a person, and I don't want to leave as a monster who can't experience happiness anymore. A monster like you."

Dawn broke, and Wilson threw something to him. A winter hat. "Also, you need to work just like the rest of us. Go catch the rabbits." He turned and left.

Maxwell stared after him, then smiled as he left. "Oh, poor Wilson. Why can't you see? You're the only normal one of us left, and I doubt They'll let it stay that way."


End file.
